2012-09-18 Dirty Laundry
The late afternoon sun is shining outside but the laundry room, like almost all of such places, is lit only by the icy white light of the fluorescent bulbs overhead. Row after row of washers and driers, battered and scarred from years of freshmen, stand like loyal tanks on a never-ending battle front against college grime. The tile floor is clean, for certain values of clean, and both snack machines and laundry supply vending machines await the desperate and the foolish. And this is a freshman dorm so there's never a shortage of those. Which brings us to Todd. The latest habitant of the building is unpacking laundry from an old army style duffel bag, big enough to double for a punching bag. Unlike most guys, he's meticulously sorting his colors, whites and various other special needs bits. The young man's demeanor is relaxed, even happy, as though the domestic chore is somehow relaxing, even fun for him. Like a child playing house or a person free to do this sort of thing on their own schedule for the first time. And into everyone's happiness must come some rain. This rain comes out of Siberia int he form of a petite blonde. With hair cut in a long bob, she wears a NYU T-shirt and jeans with heavy boots that come all the way up to her kness with silver skull buckles that march up the outside. She's carrying a fairly small laundry basket that probably holds a single load. Which is a little unusual. Most college students like to wait until they have absolutely no clothes left and then wash them all, taking like four washers at once. Illyana lives up on the top floor in one of the few single rooms. No roommate blues for her. Her blue gaze is hard and cold, even when she's in a friendly mood, and they find Todd as soon as she walks in the door. She glances around the rest of the room, but it's empty, before looking back to Todd and giving him a short nod. Todd Rice notices the blond and her cool scrutiny. He continues to toss things in various washers. Only taking up three of them. Mostly because he doesn't have all that many clothes. His smile fades to a polite and neutral half-version of itself. The very picture of a person carefully keeping his own council. A defensive habit picked up over the years, perhaps. At the nod, he returns it, with an arched eyebrow and a hint of a sardonic grin. And because he's from Milwaukee, rather than New York, his Midwestern upbringing forces him to speak. "Hey." Illyana's upbringing is Limbo, so it's probably best she's forgone any demonic greeting rituals. "Hey." She replies, finding a washer that isn't being used, or have clothes waiting for someone to take them out, or is broken or... well, yeah. The typical college situation. She doesn't sort her clothes, just dumps all of them into a washer. It looks like they're a mix of T-shirts and jeans, light and dark together. As goes about adding soap and queuing it up, she looks back over at him. "I haven't seen you before." The dorm isn't small, but Illyana's attentive. She doesn't have any discernable accent to pick up on. Pausing a moment, perhaps at that icy demeanor, Todd looks a bit surprised at the comment. He's already learned that New Yorkers tend to be almost as brusque as they are in the movies. But you don't make friends without trying. He shrugs and replies, "Well, that's probably because I'm new." A momentary pause and then, "Todd. Nice to meet you." He grins a little again as he turns back to his machines, measuring out detergent and setting the various loads on the right temperatures. "And you're going to fade everything you own, you know, right?" "Illyana." The blonde returns, and there perhaps, is the hint of an accent, in how she says her name. With that Russian roll to it. "I just wash everything in cold." She says, frowning over at him. It's not really an agressive sort of frown, more like she's thinking. Or considering. The name sounds exotic to Todd and he repeats it, "Illyana. That's cool." His grin gets a bit wider as he continues to play the sage of the laundry set, "Won't get your jeans really clean. But hey, don't mind me. I'm kind of ...um... process oriented." He says it with a shrug that suggests he's comfortable with the idea of his own mental quirks. And then, after seeing that thoughtful frown, "Also, not a creeper. Scout's honor." That assurance gets a small sound of amusement from Illyana. "Lucky for you." She says, giving him a wink and that frown quirks upwards into a smirk. She puts a hand on one of the tables and hops up to sit on it while the laundry runs. "And how dirty can my jeans really have gotten, walking from class to class?" The young man shrugs again and grins wider at statement, agreeing easily. "Oh, man, yea. I know better than to mess with a tough New York chick." At the question, he pauses thoughtfully and says, "Huh. When you put it that way, not much at all. I just assumed you had a job or two." And he apparently really did assume that. Todd's been working, one way or another, since he was fourteen. The idea of 'just' going to class is almost alien to him and it shows. "I dunno if I count as a 'New York chick'." Illyana notes, still smirking. And doesn't grumble about being called a 'chick', either. "I just moved to the city this summer. Though I was living in upper New York before. that." The bit about the job? Gets a slight shrug. "I've got other clothes for work." If ruling Limbo and being a Titan counts as work. Todd tilts his head a bit, looking interested. "Ah, well, still better than me. I'm from Milwaukeee." He shrugs apologetically, as though to indicate that everybody has to be from somewhere. And then a grin, "I usually can get away with slacks and a white shirt. Nobody really looks at waiters anyway. But I have to admit, I've been hitting thrift stores like mad here. There's so much stuff. And all of it is pretty cool." "Waiter huh? Where do you work?" Illyana's legs cross at the ankles, swinging back and forth in an almost childlike manner. Those eyes are still eerie, even if her demeanor seems friendly enough. Like they're too old, or have seen too much. The kind of eyes that just send a shiver down the spine of some people. "All of it pretty cool... and usually hellaciously expensive." She points out. Todd sighs and nods ruefully at that. "Oh my god, yes. But even with tuition, being a freshman is cheaper than getting an apartment." He notes that cool, dispassionate gaze, but in a way, he's almost familiar with it. Perhaps people who are a bit damaged know their own. Perhaps his own recent awakening of powers has left him cocky. Perhaps both. He's put off a bit but perhaps not as much as many would be. "And I work at a hole in the wall near Wall Street. Which is also near the city library and vital statistics department. Which works out pretty well for me." "You planning a major with something to do with vital statistics?" The blonde asks, arching a brow. Somehow, even the most normal of questions seem mocking from her. Like everything is some kind of joke and only she gets it. "If it weren't for scholarships, I'd be making a really long commute." Shaking his head, Todd levers himself up to sit on an unused washer with easy confidence. He looks at the stranger a little closer, as though trying to figure her out. The tone is cool and the demeanor frosty, but she's actually interacting, which means ...something. And truth be told, for as much as he tries to be a lone wolf these days, Todd hasn't had a lot of non-work related socialization since getting to the city. "No, I'm, um, looking for records. On my birth mother. And my father too, but I don't have as much to go on, there. All I know about her is that she was from either New York or Gotham, she was named Rose and she, um, had a genetic condition. Or my dad did. I'm kind of hoping it was her, because two vectors on one subject are more useful than one each on two." Illyana blinks those cold blue eyes slowly. "Adopted, huh?" Since those are the types that normally search for birth parents. Her head tilts over to the side a bit, thoughtful. "Not much to go on." She agrees. "What kind of condition? Depending on how rare it is, it might be easier to track down medical treatment." She frowns lightly then, what seems to be a thoughtful expression for her. "Though medical records are hard to get at most times..." Most masters of the mystical arts are pretty damned good researchers, and so she can't help but mull over how to solve the puzzle. The young man nods. "Yea. Adopted. And no, not a lot to go on." At the question about the condition, Todd goes still a moment. For somebody raised to be hyper vigilant, like say, in Limbo, there is a telling quality to that stillness. Like prey. Or somebody trying to hide. Though in this case, hide something, rather than himself. After a moment, Todd smiles and shrugs broadly again. "Oh, one of those congenital things. Metabolism based. It's, ah, complicated. And yea, getting medical records for every woman in the city named Rose around the time of my birth is, well, not working out." A gleam touches Illyana's eyes and there's that smirk again as Todd goes still. Prey. Secrets. They're oh-so-very tempting. She has to give herself a little shake. No. She's supposed to be good. Normal. "You're lying." She drawls. "But, they're your secrets, right? But that means I can't really help, hmm?" Not that Todd ever said her help was even wanted. "Next time someone asks, I suggest you just say 'it's not rare enough to use for a primary filter' or something like that." Wincing a little at being called a liar, and more at having it hit home as true, Todd shakes his head. His own eyes go distant and angry and his voice is a bit cooler as he says, "Where I come from, we're still polite. And if I had any secrets, trust me, they'd be a bit much for a New York ice princess to handle." He blinks at the last bit of advice, which is actually useful. And thus makes him more conscious of being a liar and now, rude. Suddenly defensive, the temptation to draw the shadows around himself is nearly overwhelming, in the face of that cold, precise demeanor. How long has it been since he took his meds today? A thrill of dread goes down Todd's spine as he realizes what he was just thinking. Yea. Definitely time for his evening dose. He heads to the vending machine and stuffs in the cash with hands that tremble just a little bit. In the face of Todd's increasingly cool tone, Illyana's smirk just broadens into a wicked sort of grin. "Politeness is overrated. And trust me, I'm no princess. Princesses need saving." She's got that almost-mocking lilt to her tone again. "But that was at least honest, instead of polite. I like that better." Her attention follows him as he makes his way over to the vending machine, eyes narrowing at those trembling hands. "Hypoglycemic?" Selecting soda, because, hey, for the first time in his life, he can drink it, Todd fumbles with a plastic case from his pocket and drops a couple of capsules in his palm. He swallows them, sighing faintly and then focuses back on Illyana. "Something like that." Okay, nothing like that. But 'I'm on psych medicines' is probably not a good thing to tell somebody you've just met. He's embarrassed and defensive both, and a reminder that he's going to have to be careful managing his own life now doesn't exactly his mood. After a moment he says, almost grudgingly, "Alright. That's fair. I'm ...sorry. It's just, you know, stuff. Family stuff. You don't want to go sharing some of that with everybody you meet, you know?" Vague, but true. Illyana has her palms flat on the table she's sitting on, which makes her lean forward a bit and she shrugs. "I told you, I prefer honesty. Say you don't want to talk about it, or answer or whatever. Tell me to buzz off or go away. But don't lie to me. I don't like lies." She says it all casually, like telling someone to get lost is perfectly alright. Her head tilts over to the side a bit, and she's still watching him with a slightly predatory air. "Are you embarassed for being caught in the lie, or because you have a physical condition you can't help?" Todd Rice blinks at that aggressive tone and body language. He's very tense now at the unexpected tone things have taken. He takes a long moment to answer, breathing deeply, fighting down the mood swing, hoping the drugs will smooth things out quickly. After a moment he gives Illyana a long, level look and says, "A little of both. And that's really all you need to know, Illyana. Unless you're related to a brilliant neuro-chemistry expert or somebody who can find people at the drop of a hat." Another pause and that Midwestern upbringing kicks in again, "Sorry." "I do have an uncle that's probably got a degree in it." Illyana says with a smirk. "And I also know someone that's really good at finding people, with some incentive." She quirks a brow at him. "You and your assumptions." She seems to get a certain glee out of needling him. His apology makes her chuckle. Getting her to apologize is like pulling teeth, and he drops them like rain from the sky. Sipping his soda, watching the somewhat infuriating young woman intently now, Todd starts to feel that welcome hint of numbness, like being wrapped in gauze, that suggests his meds are starting to work at full efficiency again. After a moment he says, "Well, if your uncle or your friend wants to help out, that would be great. I can't afford a genius biochemist, but if it's a matter of paying for a private eye or something, I can swing a few days pay for that." He'll be eating his free meal at the restaurant as his only meal and skimping on everything else, but that's a small price to pay, really. "If they are interested." Illyana swings her legs back and forth idly and shrugs. "I don't know. And I didn't say that I'd ask them, just that I had them." Her smirk has a slightly cruel edge to it as she watches him. "Assuming again. But I suppose I'll forgive you." She says with a regal toss of her hair. "As to the finding... Do you have anything that was theirs?" Todd Rice rolls his eyes at that tone. "Ah. You really enjoy being a bit of a .... baiting people, don't you?" He shakes his head. "Me. And that's about it. My adoptive parents decided to burn everything else. All the records. Anything they might have left. To help me fit in." His tone is detached but there is a heat in his eyes that is very much like hate. So perhaps that cruel act did bond him with them, after all. "Bitch?" Illyana asks, brows going up as she finishes the sentance that he didn't. She seems more amused than insulted though. Her brows manage to go even higher at the nwes. "Of course. Because not having your history would *totally* make you fit in better." Oh yeah. That's sarcasm. She slips down from the table, her boots hitting the tiled floor with a solid thump. She walks over towards him in a slow, stalking sort of saunter. "Mmmm. Fire." She grins wider at him. There is a faint blush to Todd's cheeks. But he doesn't deny it, either. At her tone he shrugs and says, "James, my father, had ...firm ideas about what he wanted in his house. And it wasn't me." Watching her stalk closer, Todd doesn't move. He doesn't feel physically threatened, as foolish as that is. "And yea, fire. God, don't tell me I'm sharing the building with a pyromaniac?" Illyana gives one of those slow blinks of hers, and then chuckles. "No." She assures him, blue eyes glinting agian with amusement. "Nothing so mundane as that." She adds suggestively, giving him a wink. "Your kind of fire is way more interesting. Anger. Maybe even... hate?" Again she smirks. "Things I know... intimately." Todd's jaw drops slightly and his eyes widen. It takes him a long moment to process that and when he does, he sets down his drink on the washer, watching Illyana carefully now. "Hate?" He pauses again and then nods, "Maybe. Yea. Probably. Anger? Certainly." His answering grin is sardonic, even a bit bitter, "Oh? So we're going to be friends if I'm sufficiently screwed up by life?" Illyana gives a low chuckle. "Maybe. I gotta let you know though... My bar's set pretty high." She stops when she's near him, not quite entering that bubble of personal space. She leans a hip against one of the washers, arms crossing before her. "Fair warning though. I don't have many friends. There's probably a reason for that, hmm?" Todd's eyes narrow and his smile quirks up briefly. "Well, being a raging bitch probably presents something of a problem. But that's okay, I can work with bitchiness rather than stupidity." That watchfulness lessens a bit as she stops without invading his personal space. "And look at it this way, I can provide you with a reference for decent behavior and you can provide honesty checks. And your fabulous, wildly talented family and friends' help, of course." Illyana's expression is mockingly impressed. "Ooo, you will? Decent behaviour? I'm all atwitter." He's getting that wicked grin though, and not the smirk. "And I'll take rude over dishonest." She watches him for a long, long moment. "I just might like you, Todd." Todd Rice shakes his head, "You'll need to pretend to be human sooner or later, Illyana. And believe me, nobody looks past the surface." Of course, the irony of that statement, to her, is completely lost on him. "And of course you like me. I think we're both a little crazy. That breaks a lot of ice." He pauses a moment and then adds, "But you still can't do laundry right." Honesty and anal retentiveness are probably not going to be an endearing combination. "But we can work on that too." Illyana gives another chuckle at Todd's observation. "They don't normally, no." She conceeds. "But maybe if they don't, then I don't really care about them." The laundry bit though, that makes her break into a laugh that sounds... almost honest. Normal. Without the edges of mocking or dark amusement. "Careful. You'll wind up doing my laundry for me." Not that she does a lot. There's only a few items she doesn't trust her demons to clean for her, or that she doesn't just magic-up new versions of. Category:Logs Category:RPLogs